Alone
by muldy
Summary: 'He could see her heart breaking, but he didn't care. He wanted it to break, he wanted her to feel what he was feeling, because there was no way she could feel that emotion and choose Teddy over him. The absolute raw desperation of love had taken over.' Rayna/Deacon


The girl sat at the opposite end of the café, her long red hair hiding most of her face. She scribbled intensely in a notebook and he couldn't help but watch her.

'Get back to work, Claybourne.'

The tea towel hit him in the face before he had a chance to even register his manager's words.

'And don't even bother, that's Lamar Wyatt's daughter,' Mark said quietly. 'If you really want to talk to her, you can go over and make her buy another coffee. She's been sitting there for hours without buying anything, it's bad for business.'

He smiled to himself. Perfect.

He slowly walked towards her and leaned over, trying his hardest to see what she was writing.

'Do you sing, or just enjoy writing songs?'

He had expected her to jump, but she didn't, instead slowly turning her head to look at him.

'Do you make a habit of sneaking up on girls while they're writing and reading over their shoulders?'

'Just the pretty ones.'

It was an instinctual response, and straight away he was kicking himself. She wasn't the type of girl who would respond well to pick up lines – hell she just wasn't the kind of girl who he had any chance with anyway.

'Wow. Really? You haven't even offered to buy me a drink yet,' she smiled.

Her smile hit the right note somewhere inside and he felt something clench in his chest. No way could he possibly fall for a girl this quickly, it was ridiculous, but he was falling faster with every second he was standing in front of her.

'Well, if a drink is what you want, that's easily arranged,' he smiled. 'What do you want?'

'Just a cola.'

She smiled again.

It was love. Definitely love. He loved this girl.

'One cola coming your way.'

He turned back to the bar, slipping a dollar note out of his pocket to place in the till and pretend it was hers. He would never hear the end of it if Mark caught him handing out free drinks to pretty girls.

* * *

'You neglected to mention you were such a good singer.'

His hand slipped on the guitar as he looked up to find her standing in the doorway, arms folded, her notebook held in one of her hands.

'We're not open yet,' he responded, smiling.

'I'm just here to enjoy the music,' she responded, taking a seat opposite him. 'So, play.'

He was embarrassed. Deacon Claybourne was embarrassed that someone was asking him to play guitar.

'What do you like?'

'I like music.'

He played a few notes, then stopped and shook his head, focusing on the ground.

'Wow, it's really hard to play when you're trying to impress someone.'

'Don't worry, you've already impressed me,' she responded.

He looked up at her and in that moment their eyes met and the electricity between them sparked. He opened his mouth to respond, but thought better of it. He didn't have anything decent to say to her anyway.

Strumming the guitar he began singing.

She watched his hands on the guitar and he felt the smile spreading from his face to the rest of his body involuntarily. After the first verse she pulled up a stool and sat down next to him.

To his surprise she joined in.

He stopped playing.

'Sorry, I didn't mean – ' she stood up.

'No, I…you just took me by surprise,' he smiled, hating himself for a moment for stopping. 'You're good.'

'You sound surprised. You may be good at guitar, but you could work on your complimenting skills.'

He looked up at her. 'It makes me feel unworthy of singing with you.'

She laughed. 'Much better. And you have nothing to worry about.'

They sat around for the next hour playing songs and singing and talking, until Deacon had to open the café up for the shift.

* * *

'Bluebird?'

'Yeah, tonight.'

'You want me to play at the Bluebird…tonight?'

She grinned at him. 'What, too much pressure?'

He leaned over the counter. Her smile, combined with the way her hair curled just the right way over her shoulders, and the fact that she was standing in front of him holding a guitar, meant that telling her no was going to be extremely hard.

'I have work,' he responded.

'I already cleared it with Mark,' she responded.

He glanced at his manager, who was doing a good job of eavesdropping and pretending he hadn't heard a thing.

'Okay.'

The Bluebird was the place you played if you were one of the big guns. It wasn't where he played, he played in the corner of the cafe he worked in, after hours or before hours, very rarely during, and never with Rayna James.

'How many people are we playing with?'

'Just us.'

She placed the guitar in her hand on the counter in front of him.

'Oh, and this is for you. Think of it as an early birthday present or something.'

* * *

He almost didn't go. It was only looking back now that he realised how different his life would have been had he not walked through that door. The whole night was a blur, he wandered into the empty Bluebird, the first time he had ever been there, and found Rayna sitting on a stool, warming up.

'How did you set this up?'

'I know a guy,' she replied. 'One of the bartenders is a good friend of mine.'

That's the only question he asked before they were interrupted by the sound guy and suddenly it was 6PM and people were walking in.

He sat back and watched as she stood up in front of the crowd, some of them regulars, some of them singers themselves, and with complete confidence told them all it was their first time playing together in front of a crowd. She introduced him, but he barely registered it, all he could think was how comfortable he felt, sitting up on that stage next to her, while she dealt with the crowd with complete and utter ease.

It felt right.

She took a seat next to him, pulling her stool close so that their knees were touching ever so slightly.

He never looked back.

* * *

He woke up to loud knocking a week later, lying on the floor, an empty bottle of bourbon lying next to him. He had to stop the weeknight drinking.

'Coming!' he shouted.

He hadn't expected Rayna. Then again, he hadn't really been expecting anyone. Her first reaction was to laugh.

'It's Tuesday,' she smiled. 'How much did you drink last night?'

He indicated to the empty bottle lying visibly behind him. 'Just a little.'

'Can I come in? There's no half-naked girls around I should look out for?'

He shook his head and she walked past him into the living room. He hadn't even thought about bringing home any girls other than her since they had met three months earlier. She was the only girl he thought about, but she was so far out of his league it was ridiculous.

'Watty White called. He wants us to play a proper gig. A paid one!'

She couldn't contain her glee at all, jumping on him and hugging him.

'Where? When? Does he know we've only played together once…' he was confused, but smiling anyway because her excitement was contagious.

'At a place downtown, he said if we can pull this off there's the possibility of a recording contract and touring – '

And then she kissed him. He was never going to forget that moment, the moment he had thought about for months, every day, and here it was actually happening, pretty much as he had imagined it.

He kind of wished he'd had time to brush his teeth though.

She jumped back after a moment.

'I'm sorry, that was completely inappropriate,' she whispered, looking at the ground.

He reached forward and lifted her chin up, leaning in and kissing her again.

Then it suddenly hit him what she had come here to tell him. He pulled back and placed his hands on her shoulders.

'Rayna, did you just say we're playing a paid gig?'

She grinned.

'Yes, we are!'

* * *

He pulled up on the bridge, confused by the message that had been left on his machine, asking if he could meet her there. He jumped over the wall and walked over to where she was sitting on the table.

It was dark, but he could see that her shoulders were hunched and she had clearly been crying.

'Ray?'

She glanced over at him and he could see the tears clearly in her eyes.

He didn't ask, taking a seat next to her and pulling her towards him.

'Daddy kicked me out of the house,' she whispered after a few moments of silence. 'I have nowhere to go.'

'I have a spare room,' he whispered.

They stayed there for another hour before driving back to his place.

* * *

She cracked the champagne bottle over the sink, luckily, since it went everywhere. Their first day of recording had gone well, more than well, everyone had loved it and there was already talk of touring Tennessee in all the smaller venues.

'To us!' she cheered.

He held out the glasses to her and she poured the champagne slowly. It was the good stuff, clearly bought for her by her father. He knew she hated accepting gifts from her family, but he was glad that on this occasion she had decided to.

'To you,' he responded, not expecting the words to come out so quietly.

She looked up at him, surprised by his tone of voice.

He felt it then, the thing he had been trying to push away for the last few weeks. He didn't want to fall for her, not now, now was a really bad time for this to start. What if it didn't work?

She watched him as his mind ticked over and he shook his head, pushing away all thoughts of kissing her, of holding her and spending every moment of every day with her, although if he was honest with himself, that last part they pretty much did anyway.

'Us,' she repeated, forcefully.

He smiled.

He liked the sound of that.

* * *

It was the first night they didn't pick up their guitars at all in the two months they had been living together. They were both exhausted and it had been her idea just to watch a movie and go to bed early.

If he was honest, he couldn't have told anyone about a single scene that happened in the film, as her head had been resting against his shoulder for the majority of it, and the physical closeness was driving him mad.

He glanced down at her hand, lying closely next to his leg on the couch.

It was halfway through the film that he got up the courage to take her hand.

She wrapped her fingers around his and moved closer.

'Ray?'

A quiet mumble was the only response he got, and he wondered how close to falling asleep she was.

'I think I'm falling in love with you,' he whispered.

For a moment when he received nothing in return he panicked, hoping he hadn't taken things too far. Then he glanced down at her to see her eyes were shut and her body was relaxed against his.

She was asleep.

* * *

She found him sitting alone in his room the day after his friend's death. For a few moments she didn't seem to know what to say, hovering quietly in the doorway. He looked up at her and felt the tears running down his face.

Somehow he didn't mind her seeing him like this.

'It's my fault.'

She shook her head and was by his side in a flash.

'No, Deacon, it wasn't,' she reached up and wiped his tears away.

For a few moments her fingers lingered lightly on his cheeks, while her other hand lightly trailed down his arm, comforting him.

'I'm a bad person,' he continued. 'I should have stopped him, not encouraged him.'

It was the first time she faltered, saying nothing. Instead she wrapped her arms around him and held him while he cried.

He let her.

* * *

'I love you.'

They were backstage, about to get up and perform as a supporting act for someone they had both grown up adoring as a performer. He had been thinking it since the moment he met her, but some part of him had just accepted that maybe it wasn't something she was ever going to say to him.

'Well, there you go, I said it and you're just standing there gawking at me like a fool – '

He loved that she started rambling when she was nervous.

He walked towards her, smiling.

'Rayna,' he cut her off before she talked herself out of going on stage with him.

'Yes, Deacon?'

'I love you too,' he whispered, leaning in and kissing her lightly on the lips. 'But you would have to be an idiot if you didn't already know that.'

As he pulled back and grabbed his guitar, the involuntary smile on her face told him everything he needed to know.

* * *

Meeting the family hadn't gone too well. He held a grudge against her father for kicking her out years earlier, although part of him wanted to thank the man for fast-tracking their relationship.

Everything after hello had been downhill.

'Daddy's right…you should drink less,' Rayna whispered quietly in the car on the way home.

He stared out the window and ignored her comment, allowing her to drive the rest of the way home in silence.

It was the first time since they had met that he hadn't wanted to discuss something with her.

* * *

'You're using your alcoholism as an escape.'

He rolled his eyes inwardly as the psychiatrist tried to pinpoint his issues.

'I drink because life sucks,' he snapped back.

'You know you're only making things worse?'

He stood up and turned to the shrink. 'I don't need this bullshit.'

She was waiting for him out the front.

He said nothing.

She didn't ask.

* * *

Drugs came easier with the fame. First it was just a joint here and there, she joined him in smoking some of those.

But then there was the coke and the speed and a whole cocktail of things. Free, easy and fast.

The door of his change room swung open halfway through a line of coke.

He swung around to meet her eye.

It was the first time he saw the tears well up in her eyes since her father had kicked her out of home.

It was also the first time he realised the affect it was having on her.

* * *

'This isn't working.'

He was drunk and high, and he couldn't register what she was saying. He knew it was bad, but he didn't quite understand.

'The song?'

There was a long pause, one that told him that she was angry. Angry, sad, helpless.

And suddenly he understood.

'Us?'

She nodded silently.

'I love you,' was his only response.

'You're drunk,' was hers.

The anxious panicked feeling took over, fighting through is intoxicated state to consume his mind.

'I'm sorry, Ray, I can be sober, I can…'

'I can't do this, I can't keep coming to pick you up from random bars later at night,' she whispered. 'I can't stand lying awake not knowing where you are, hoping that you're still alive, night after night. I don't want to open the door to your change room and find you unconscious and one day have you not be alive.'

There was a pause as she collected her thoughts.

'Deacon, I love you too much to watch you destroy yourself. I think we need to end things.'

* * *

He drank a bottle of bourbon to himself the next night. Then some beers. And a few shots.

Out of habit, the bartender called Rayna to pick him up.

'No,' he tried to communicate. 'Not her.'

He wasn't sure the words even made it out of his mouth and suddenly she was there, carrying him to her car.

He sat with his head against the window, watching the lights passing by as though they were in slow motion.

'Marry me,' he whispered.

'Deacon – '

'I'm serious, Rayna…I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Tell me what I have to do to make you do that.'

He wasn't sure exactly what she said, but she pulled over the car and sat in silence. He knew she was crying, but he felt like it wasn't his place to comfort her.

He fought the urge the hug her for as long as he could, then reached over and took her hand, squeezing it lightly.

'I'm sorry,' he said quietly.

She squeezed it back.

* * *

He didn't see her for two weeks, until he had to show up at a meeting about their upcoming tour. He dreaded the meeting for almost the entire two weeks.

He hated that he had proposed to her drunk, the night after she broke up with him.

A part of him knew that was the end.

He had planned proposing to her for almost as long as he had known her, and the only time he had racked up the courage to actually do so had come across as some desperate last ditch attempt to win her love back.

He spent most of the meeting avoiding her gaze, staring at the table in front of him and barely listening to the conversation happening around him.

'What do you think, Deacon?' her voice suddenly rang clearly through the clatter in his mind.

He looked up at her. 'I'm in if you want me there.'

He felt the words leaving his mouth before he could control them.

'Then we're in,' she smiled at the executives, shook their hands and left the room.

He waited until the room was empty before making his way out.

'Are you sober?'

He jumped, not expecting her to still be there.

'Yes.'

The silence that hung between them as he met her gaze was the thickest he had ever felt, as though someone was strangling him as he stood in place.

'Look, if you don't want me on the tour – '

'I'm seeing someone else.'

It was as though a giant pit to hell opened up right then and there under his feet, swallowing everything he had ever valued in life.

'Already?'

'My father set us up, I've known him for years, he's a good guy,' she responded. 'That's all. I just wanted you to know.'

She turned and left him standing alone in the empty hallway.

Inside he was screaming.

In reality he had never been so quiet in his life.

* * *

'It's a woman, isn't it?'

Since checking himself into rehab, he had tried to avoid actually making friends with anyone. He didn't want to explain himself, he didn't want pity or encouragement, he just wanted to be left alone and sort out his issues by himself, with his guitar.

'What makes you say that?'

'The songs you sing,' the guy responded. 'They're all about love.'

'They're country songs, broken hearts come with the territory.'

It was the first time he admitted to himself why he was actually there.

* * *

Every ring of the telephone felt like an eternity.

One.

Two.

Three.

'_Hi, you've called the voicemail of Rayna James, please leave a message._'

He sighed and considered hanging up for a moment, but it was the third day in a row he had called and she hadn't answered.

'Hey, Rayna, it's Deacon. I just wanted to say hey and that I hope things are going well and I'm hoping to be out of here in time for the tour.'

She picked up.

'Deacon! Sorry I just got home, I've been away for the long weekend.'

Right, they had those on the outside.

They spoke for a few minutes before she went silent.

'Whats wrong?' he asked.

He wasn't stupid. He knew her.

'Teddy proposed on the weekend,' she said quietly.

He had nothing to say, no response to that. He didn't even feel anything, it was as though every emotion he had ever had for her had just been locked into some box and placed aside.

'Congratulations.'

He hadn't intended it to sound so dry and harsh, he had meant it, he wanted her to be happy.

It wasn't until after he hung up the phone and was alone in his room that he let it sink in.

She was marrying someone else.

* * *

'Don't marry him.'

She looked up at him and shook her head. 'Deacon – '

'Marry me.'

He could see her heart breaking, but he didn't care. He wanted it to break, he wanted her to feel what he was feeling, because there was no way she could feel that emotion and choose Teddy over him.

The absolute raw desperation of love had taken over and he couldn't control himself anymore. Hours he had spent sitting alone in his apartment, a bottle of scotch sitting on the table, the thought of calling his old dealer sitting in the back of his mind very close to becoming a reality, but he hadn't done it. That wasn't going to impress her. He had known better than to turn to substance abuse.

But he hadn't known better than to turn up at her quiet gig at the Bluebird and beg her not to do it.

It was the moment he had dreamt about for months, waking up at all sorts of strange hours in a panic, a depression. The fear that had stayed with him the whole way through rehab, that had forced him to get better, because if he didn't, he would be there longer, and the longer he was there, the further away he was from preventing his nightmare situation from occurring.

'You're drunk.'

It was the natural thing to assume. He probably would have made the same assumption about himself had he not known better.

'Completely sober.'

She seemed half-surprised and half-disappointed by the statement.

'Deacon, we've been through this.'

'I can do this, I can, I promise,' he stepped closer towards her.

She didn't take a step back. He hated that even in this situation, even when he had stormed in here, determined to woo her with his directness, she held control of the situation. She always did.

She was the lead singer after all.

'I've made my choice,' she stated firmly. 'I've made it and I'm sticking by it, and this – '

She paused and leaned forward, the heartbreak he had seen in her eyes a few moments earlier was gone, replaced by the familiar fire that he knew better than the argue with.

' – this is over.'

It was the final bullet.

He wanted to respond with something, anything. A 'your loss' or 'don't come running to me when it fails', but he couldn't. Maybe because he didn't really believe it, maybe because those last words had really hit home where nothing she had said before ever had.

He said nothing, feeling the tears pricking the back of his eyes.

He turned.

'Deacon,' she whispered.

He ignored her and walked out.

* * *

It took almost every fibre of his being not to call her and say all manner of hurtful things, and every small remaining one not to hide behind drugs and alcohol.

The knock at the door awoke him from what could only be described as a coma he'd fallen into, playing guitar and staring at the wall. After a moment's consideration, he dragged himself to the door and opened it.

'Just wanted to check you were still alive,' Coleman smiled up at him.

Deacon didn't return the smile. He couldn't. Instead, he shrugged and stepped back, allowing Coleman to enter the house.

'I love what you've done with the place.'

Deacon looked at the pile of mess that had accumulated on his table and floor. Part of him was horrified that he'd let it get that far, but the other half didn't care all that much.

'Why are you here?' was all he managed before sitting down again. 'I don't need my sponsor.'

Coleman looked at the bottle of scotch on the table dubiously.

'It's been there for months, I haven't touched it.'

'In that case, I'm here as a friend.'

Coleman sat down on the sofa, ignoring the pile of newspapers he was half sitting on.

'I don't need a friend.'

'I'd say you need a friend, Deacon,' Coleman's voice was stern, the authority came through clearly and suddenly Deacon seemed to snap out of his state of barely existing.

He felt the tears hitting again and instantly he wanted the numbness back. As much as he hated not being able to feel nothing, it was preferably to the complete and utter pain he felt when the numbness wore off.

'It's my fault,' he finally admitted, more to himself than to Coleman.

'What is?'

'Everything.'

That was what was making him feel so rotten, that he had done this and that there seemed like there was absolutely nothing in the world that he could do to make it better.

He'd lost everything and he had no one to blame but himself.

He fell into the chair and cried.

He didn't remember Coleman leaving, but when he woke up on his chair in the morning he had a blanket wrapped around him.

Glancing at the sun streaming in through the window, he stood up and picked up the closest pile of pizza boxes and newspapers, taking it to the kitchen and dumping it next to the recycling.

After an hour of cleaning up his living room he stepped outside.

He didn't go far, just stayed on the porch, but it was a start.

* * *

'So, were you planning to invite me to your wedding?'

He stormed into her hotel room and threw the invitation on the table. In hindsight, maybe going on tour with the woman he was in love with, who was marrying someone else, was a bad idea, but he didn't know how to exist any other way. The only thing he loved anywhere near as much as he loved her was his music and he refused to give up both.

She didn't say anything for a few moments, picking up the invitation from the table.

'Where did you get this?'

'It fell out of Emily's guitar case when we were packing up.'

'Oh.'

'Oh? That's all you have to say? Did you think I wouldn't find out?'

'Can we not do this here?'

'Then where Rayna? At your place? Should I invite Teddy?'

He saw her jaw clench and he realised he'd stepped over the line. She didn't want to discuss it, but he couldn't let it go. Deep down he knew she was making a mistake and he wanted to make this as difficult for her as possible.

She didn't say anything, just glared back at him.

He took that as an invitation to continue.

'I know things haven't been great between us, but to not invite me? Do you know how much that hurts?'

'Probably about as much as watching the man I love drink himself into what I thought was going to be an early death.'

That hit the exact spot she knew it would and he had to fight back the urge to slam his fist into the nearest wall. It took everything he had not to, and he could feel his jaw clenching and his fingernails digging into his palms as his curled his hands into a fist.

How did she not understand? He had gone to rehab for her, everything he had done was for her, and he didn't even get an invitation to the day that he knew would be the worst day of his life.

She broke her ground first, sighing and stepping forward.

'Teddy doesn't want you there and I didn't think you'd want to come.'

'I don't,' he paused for a moment. 'But I'd like the option, because you are the single most important thing in my life, and what's important to you is important to me.'

Her eyes flickered between emotions.

He felt hope rising in him, almost as quickly as he crushed it.

He couldn't let himself hope for anything, because in all likelihood he was imagining things.

Although he had one more card.

After a few more moments of silence, he spoke.

'I love you and you know damn well you feel the same.'

'Deacon – '

'Tell me you don't love me, Rayna.'

'I can't.'

'I know.'

Her lips are on his a few seconds later and he was finding it harder to push away the feelings of hope.

* * *

Three weeks. That's all they could manage apart. Not romantically, it wasn't necessarily about that (although it was about that a lot of the time), but they had that connection, that pull that made it impossible for them to be apart, to work apart, to exist without the other.

He waited until she called.

He didn't think he had permission to make first moves anymore, the ball was in her court.

They met by the river, where they always met. Most of the time it was unspoken, just a place they both knew to find the other when something was up, but this time they arranged it.

He found her sitting on the picnic table, staring out across the water. He wondered how long she had been sitting there, and suspected it was a lot longer than it had taken him to get there.

'Hey,' he said quietly, standing away from her.

He couldn't sit next to her, not yet. He didn't know what he was feeling and being that close to her was going to bring up so many things he wasn't sure he could control.

'You're really marrying him?'

'I'm pregnant.'

They spoke at the same time.

He didn't say anything. He didn't need to. He turned and he left. In the back of his mind, one little string tugged and whispered to him '_Ask who the father is. Ask!_', but he ignored it, got back in his car and drove off as fast as he could.

As he sped over the bridge he glanced back one last time. She was clutching her face in her hands and shaking with tears and he felt his heart implode and explode at the same moment.

He put his foot on the brake and stopped.

For a few moments he sat on the bridge, his eyes focused solely on the empty road ahead of him, trying to push away the image of Rayna crying.

He couldn't.

Slamming the gear stick into reverse he backed off the bridge and parked, making his way back to her as quickly as possible. She hadn't noticed him returning, and as he took a seat next to her she jumped.

'I'm sorry,' he whispered, not knowing exactly what he was apologising for.

He didn't think it mattered. For a moment she looked up at him, her makeup running down her face, and then she leaned into him as he put his arm around her. This was what mattered. Making sure she was okay, even if it meant hurting himself more.

* * *

He went anyway, he knew all the details. The date, the time, the place. He watched from his car as the limousine pulled up and Rayna got out in her wedding dress.

It broke his heart into pieces, watching her walk up to the church, knowing that she was walking in there to marry someone else, that some other man was living his dream.

The moment she was inside he walked into the back of the church and took a seat next to someone he had never met before.

He had spent the entire morning tossing up whether or not he should go, but the alternative would land him right back in rehab.

Part of him had felt like this would be closure. He was wrong, it felt closer to attending his own funeral, like he was some outsider who no one was surprised to see, but who shouldn't really be there.

This wasn't his life anymore.

Right before she said her vows she managed to find him in the crowd, as though she had been searching for him. When the minister spoke the words 'speak now or forever hold your peace', a few pairs of eyes wandered towards him.

He left quickly after that.

She found him standing under a tree at the back of the church, staring out over the view down the hill.

'Thank you,' she whispered. 'I'm glad you came.'

He turned to look at her, a sad smile stretching across his face.

'You look happy,' he replied.

'I am,' she was grinning.

It felt like a stab to the stomach, but he ignored it. He wasn't even supposed to be there.

'Don't you have somewhere to run off to?' he asked.

'I think I can spare a few minutes for my best friend.'

Best friend.

He wasn't sure if that was comforting or made things worse. Trying not to focus on it, he stepped away from the tree and held out his hand.

'In that case, may I have this dance?'

She laughed. 'Dance? There's no music.'

'Rayna James, have you forgotten what we do for a living?' he smiled again and took her hand. 'We can create our own music.'

They danced there for a few moments, he pulled her close to him, and he began to sing. It was a song he had written about that exact moment, and it wasn't quite the same without the guitar, but it was all he had.

It was his apology, his acceptance.

And as he sang, he pretended that maybe, just maybe, this was all a strange dream, and that the wedding dress she was wearing was because she was now married to him, that everything had turned out okay.

When he finished the song they halted and she stepped back, tears in her eyes.

'Goodbye, Deacon.'

'See you round,' he responded.

And then he watched as she walked back towards the church, towards her husband, her new life.


End file.
